Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Sam: But we went over this, and I—
Jory: It’s hard to find out that the love of your life didn’t tell you that his life was, in fact, hanging in the balance off a four-story—
Sam: It was hardly four stories.
Jory: Five.
Sam: Now you’re just being ridiculous.
Jory: But the point is, when you do become aware, don’t attack the other person but instead open up a dialogue and discuss why the secret of them nearly dying—or whatever the case may be—was not discussed.
Sam: Definitely don’t start losing your shit—
Jory: Hello! Column!
Sam: —losing your mind when you confront them. Try and be a grown-up.
Jory: I’m sorry? What did you just say?
Sam: Wait-wait-wait—I’m sorry. That was crappy. I just—maybe next time—
Jory: Next time?
Sam: I meant if you found out something amazing, even if it was scary, perhaps attacking someone the second they get in the door—
Jory: So there you have it, communication is key. If one is not blindsided, one won’t go on a rampage that will leave another person’s ears ringing.
Sam: You can say that again.
Jory: Did you have something to add?
Sam: No.
DEAR JORY:
My husband has not only been bringing his work home with him but his crappy attitude as well. What do you do when your husband drags his dark cloud home?
Jory: If I see that my husband has brought his work home with him, which happens on occasion, we’re all human, I first try and ask him if he wants to talk about it just to vent. A lot of times just him telling me relieves some of his stress. I used to make suggestions to try and “fix” the situation, but I learned that it’s simply not possible. Now, I let my husband explain everything without making any comments and then ask him what his thoughts are. If after he’s all talked out he says, what do you think—then and only then, do I offer my insight. If, on the other hand, he comes home, doesn’t want to talk, and then is just pissed at life and makes me and our kids miserable, then we have an issue. As a rule, he’s not like that, but he’s a “whole world on his shoulders” kind of guy, and tends to take too much on himself. I’m working on him.
Sam: I’m not the only one who has bad days around here.
Jory: I never bring stuff home.
Sam: What about when you fight with a client?
Jory: I vent to Dylan and Fallon, never to you.
Sam: Maybe I want to help. It has to be a two-way street. I talk, then you, back and forth. We can get a timer if you want.
Jory: With everything you have on your plate, you want to help with my teeny client problems?
Sam: They’re not that teeny. Remember the time right before we got married when that event went sideways and that guy hit you?
Jory: Yeah, but that was a one-off. Things like that don’t happen much. Most of my issues these days are with clients not liking design concepts or not paying us on time.
Sam: You tell me who’s not paying you and I’ll go have a talk with them.
Jory: Oh yes, have the chief deputy of the Northern District just drop in.
Sam: I’ll bet they’ll pay you.
Jory: I suspect so.
Sam: Do I get a kiss for that?
Jory: Yes. You’re very cute
Sam: The hell you say. Cute.
Jory: Don’t sulk.
Sam: Just—keep in mind that I want to help.
Jory: And you do the same. You don’t have to tell me everything, you just have to share your frustration, and maybe we can find a work-around together. I’m not just pretty, you know.
Sam: I do know.
Jory: So our advice is?
Sam: To talk to each other.
Jory: And of course never go to bed mad.
Sam: I’ve never gone to bed mad at you. Or not talking to you or just gone to bed and not told you and you come in hours later and find me sleeping.
Jory: I know. Because like you’ve said to the kids, if someone can sleep when they know you’re upset, there’s something wrong with them.
Sam: See? Those are good words of wisdom too.
Jory: Yes, they are.
And that’s my column for this month; I’ll see you all next time.
JULY 2018
So last week was the Fourth of July, and normally I love to go to see fireworks with my entire family, not just me, Sam, and the kids, but grandparents and everyone, but this year I was tired from the day before. Dylan and Fallon—my two partners—and I had put on an event at The Reading Room of the Harper Library at the University of Chicago, and it went until one in the morning, which meant I was there supervising cleanup until three. I sent Dylan home because she and her hubby and their kids were flying to California to spend the holiday at Disneyland, and Fallon and his hubby were meeting friends in Ann Arbor the following day for a long weekend. So I was it and finally got home around four. I would have slept in, but Sam had an emergency at work to deal with, which left me in charge of my kids, Kola’s two best friends who were sleeping over, and Hannah’s new bestie, Keisha, whose folks were in the hospital, as her mother was about to give birth to a little boy she called her “holy crap are you kidding” baby. I had died laughing as she told me at her kitchen table, face down in her folded arms as her husband strutted around telling me that he had super sperm. She hit me many times with a dish towel as I explained that no, forty-three was not too old to be pregnant…again.